


Getting a clue

by JauntyHako



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Other, X6 doesn't need to know how to play poker to be awesome at poker, backstories, ftm!Preston, non-binary!Glory, non-binary!X6, post-end game, synths figuring out their identity is my jam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Institute is destroyed, X6 gets another chance to define his gender identity, with the (eager) help of Preston and (grudging) assistance from Glory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting a clue

Preston's parents died early and never had a chance to meet their son. His mother passed away knowing her child only as a daughter with a fierce love for the Minutemen and a bright future. By the time his father followed, consumed with grief after his wife died, he begun to wear his clothes, still too big for his teenaged body but feeling comfortable in a way the skirts never had. But he hadn't figured out a new name for himself and still wore his hair in a puffy fro the way his mother used to love. That was how he sat at his father's deathbed, both mourning his mother.

In the morning he woke up knowing he'd join the Minutemen. Not just playing with the idea anymore, not just wishing and wanting, whenever he saw their patrols pass through their settlement. He didn't have any family except for his parents and now they were both gone, nothing kept him at his old homesteading. He buried his father next to his mother, cut his hair short - the cut uneven and patchy but practical - and stuffed all his father's clothes in a pack before he set off for the nearest Minutemen base. He could have waited for the next patrol. They often recruited while out on their rounds, but the soldiers passing his home knew him and though he'd undoubtedly meet them again, was looking forward to it in fact, he felt like he needed a fresh start.

The journey to the Minuteman outpost took him three days, one day longer than expected on account of getting terribly lost in the bog and almost eaten by a mirelurk. Only the knowledge passed on to him by his grandfather, a skilled hunter by the name of Preston Morissey, saved his hide. He emptied the magazine of his pistol, a peashooter really, into the mirelurks fleshy faces and bashed them in with the butt of his weapon when he ran out of bullets. When he arrived at the outpost, sweaty and littered with cuts and bruises, stinking like marsh gas and mirelurk innards, he knew two things for certain. One, if he ever had to go against a mirelurk again, he hoped he'd be in the possession of a Fat Man and a stockpile of mini nukes. And two, that his name was Preston.

 

X6-88 was a male. He knew this because the Institute scientists had designed his body with male secondary and primary sexual markers. They referred to him by male pronouns and on the rare occasion some of the scientists used him to scratch a baser urge, they did so only when their preference included, or was restricted to, the male gender. Those were the facts. He could not deny them any more than he could deny being dark skinned or synthetic in origin.

And yet …

It was soon after his initial creation that X6 first observed the differences between genders. The specific event occurred during lunch, which he took with a few other synths while watching their masters for any sign of need or distress. One of the scientists, a male, pulled a chair back for a female and indicated a short bow when she sat down, before taking his own seat and continuing his meal. The gesture baffled X6. It was useless in every aspect. The woman had all the abilities necessary to seat herself and the man didn't gain anything from his actions. Indeed he seemed to have done it almost automatically, as if so ingrained in his lower processes that he needn't spare a conscious thought on it.  
That same day he asked his direct supervisors what his own gender was and was told, almost off-handedly, that it was male.

"How many genders are there?" he asked.

He knew for certain that he was no female. He lacked the parts, which to his current knowledge was the sole identifier of a person's gender. But he thought there might be other genders that shared superficial characteristics but were different upon closer inspection. That was why, when the scientists replied with a curt "two" and a snort, as if his question had been ridiculous, X6 experienced another emotion for the first time in his as of yet brief existence. Disappointment.

 

In the aftermath of the Institute's destruction X6 was too preoccupied with survival to waste much thought on his own identity. A defensive mechanism, since without the Institute there were no missions, and without missions there was no need of coursers. It had been the sole focus of his identity, the thing he concentrated on whenever he would muse about the differences between male and female and why, even after many recalibrations and hours spend in introspection, he could not firmly fit in either category. A courser, he eventually figured, had no need of this binary. Perhaps there was no place for him in either camp, but if he had to remain on the outside, he'd at the very least make sure he was capable at what he'd chosen to do rather than be. It figured that this, too, this half-identity should be stripped from him.

Fighting through an army of raiders and ferals, in dire need of medical aid, he found himself in a pre-war mall, scavenged beyond recognition. Fake marble lay in rubble around the floor, a tripping hazard X6 took great care in not falling prey to. He hurried away from the entrance, fled down into the cellar and dispatched of the lone super mutant stationed there before barricading the door and taking the first rest in days.

He used a stimpak to close his wounds and ate some of the few rations he managed to take with him, to replenish his energy. What he needed was a battle plan. What he found, glinting at the edge of his vision was a necklace of pure gold almost hidden in the rubble. Two-hundred years worth of scavengers didn't find this little thing and here it was, almost jumping into X6's hand when he reached out for it.

It was a dainty thing, the chain so thin it felt like it would crack beneath his calloused fingers. A stylised bow pendant hung in the middle. It was useless. The gold was pure but there wasn't enough of it to melt it down and reuse it for electronics. It was an old-world decadence, people using pure metals to adorn themselves with for no better reason than to look appealing.

He needed to wear it. The urge was so strong that he zipped down his coat and laid his neck bare before he formed another thought. It was more challenging than expected to work the clasp. He cussed something unintelligible and felt a ludicrous amount of relief when it finally sprung open. He drew the necklace around his neck, found with no small amount of joy that it was long enough to accommodate him and closed it, using the same amount of concentration he usually needed to disarm mines. He pushed the necklace around until the bow rested right between his collar bones, the metal cold on his skin and feeling, for some reason, heavier than it should have. Between the glass and stone X6 found a small mirror shard and held it up to see the necklace better. It was gorgeous. And, he realised with a start, he felt gorgeous. Gingerly he touched the thin chain, ran his fingertips down and marveled at the texture. Turning the mirror to observe the necklace from all sides, X6 wondered what this meant for him.

He had learned much about the gender binary since being created, through curiosity and assimilation both, but nothing that lend words to what he experienced right now. His neck was stronger than a females and when he held the mirror at an angle he cast a glimpse of his shoulders, so broad they shouldn't fit with the feminine jewelery he wore. But they did. They fit together better than anything X6 had worn before.

Feminine, he thought while he traced the golden bow, smoother than the chain but equally as fragile. Not completely female, but feminine. A little bit.

It wasn't an answer. But it was a clue. X6 didn't take the necklace off again, simply zipped his coat up again so the light wouldn't reflect off it. He'd lost everything, identity, home and purpose. But now he had a clue and that was not nothing.

 

Glory's road to freedom hadn't been so much a road as a barely visible beaten track, ripe with thorny brambles and yao guai laying in wait around every corner. She received her share of scars, both physical and emotional and wore all of them with pride. She'd been one of the first synths ever to escape the Institute and also among the first to receive facial reconstructive surgery. More than facial, really. Upon given the chance, Glory decided that the Institute and their arbitrary assignments of fixed genders could go screw themselves and had gotten herself a pair of tits. It was a great pair, too. Small and firm, in fact just enough to show under a t-shirt and hidden when she wore her heavy armor.

Of course, back in the day things hadn't been as simple as they were now. Glory had to figure out who she was pretty much all on her own and had been thrown between notions of male and female until she finally realised that 'mostly girl most days' was a valid identity to have. So when she saw the golden necklace and petite bow she knew she'd lost. Only one courser had ever been rehabilitated and it was generally assumed that he was a unique case. But in this one she couldn't put a bullet. Not for all the threat of danger in the world.

"Hey, Garvey!" she shouted. "Over here! Found a live one!"

 

X6 woke. That in itself was surprising. He slipped past most of the mutants on his way out of the warehouse but gotten careless. A suicider caught him from behind. He ran but there was no outrunning the blast radius of a hand-held nuclear device. The shockwave threw him across the parking lot and into a derelict car, where he promptly lost consciousness, expecting the scattered remains of super mutant to be the last thing he ever saw.

But he woke, aching all over but with all his limbs in their places. He groaned and tried to sit up to assess his enviroment. A gentle hand on his chest pushed him back. For a terrifying long second he thought a third arm had grown out of his body. Then he recognised the arm belonging to another body in the shape of one Preston Garvey. He smiled.

"Easy there." he said. "You took a hell of a beating. You're lucky to be alive."

His attempt at becoming vertical had caused bright flashes to flicker in front of X6's eyes. Something feeling suspiciously like a migraine knocked at the back of his head. He didn't know if that was what he'd consider lucky.

"Where am I?" he asked, cutting right to the chase. It was a clichéd but useful question.

"At the Castle. We've been coordinating with the Railroad agents to find and help any lost synths that escaped the Institute."  
"Help?" X6 asked, casting a look around and finding himself alone with Garvey. Who knew how they'd 'helped' the other synths they found.

"Yeah. You know, getting you guys someplace safe where you can start adjusting to life outside the Institute."  
"And without slavers tugging your leash." someone added from the doorway.

It was that Railroad synth, Glory. X6 had his fair share of run-ins with her and she'd always given him the slip before. For a woman decked in armour she could be surprisingly light on her feet.

"There are no leashes." X6 said coldly. "Unless your perception is clouded by faulty programming."

"Hah!" Glory made, crossing her arms. " _Your_ programming is faulty, robocop."

"There is no need for name-calling. I realise being away from the Institute for so long must have had a damaging effect on your psyche, so I will forgive you."

He shot a look at Garvey who'd buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. He seemed exasperated.

"Well, get used to it, because you'll never go back to the Institute either." Glory snapped and stalked away.

Garvey and X6 watched her go.

"She sure has a temper on her." Garvey remarked. X6 heartily agreed.

 

It turned out among the Minutemen the definition of adjustment to post-Institute life consisted mainly of watering plants. Synths manned the castle walls and artillery stations, others were already out on patrol missions, defending the Commonwealth in teams of three - one synth, one Brotherhood soldier and one Minuteman hoping not to get torn to shreds in the middle. X6's injuries were still too grave to take part in any of these assignments and so his duties were restricted to ... watering plants.

For a courser it wasn't exactly the most demanding work and yet X6 took it as seriously as hunting synths, measuring carefully how much water each plant received according to the farmer's instructions, testing the soil for its fertility and watching out for any bugs or illnesses that could befall their food supply. Strangely he received praise a lot, even though he only followed the orders he'd been given. He concluded that the previous caretaker of these plants must have been so terrible, they were grateful for someone to do the job decently.

He was busy examining a tato plant for thrips when Preston approached him holding a bundle.

"Hey there. How you feelin'?"

X6 frowned.

"You asked me that yesterday. My leg is still broken."

"Wasn't asking about your leg. Are you alright? Lot of synths taking losing their home pretty hard. Can't say I blame them."

"We can not turn back time. There is no use dwelling on something that lies in the past." X6 said and almost convinced himself.

Preston seemed even less inclined to buy that one and fixed him with a stern glare. X6's shoulders sagged.

"I am ... dealing." he said truthfully.

Most nights he wanted to cry himself to sleep, comforted only by the necklace that had become something of a superstitious token to him. Another sign of his rapidly failing programming. Preston laid a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to comfort that caused X6 only distress. He wasn't supposed to be an equal to humans and yet those sentiments made him feel as if he were.

"You let me know if there's anything I can do for you. In the meantime, Glory wanted me to give you these." Preston handed him the bundle.

X6 wiped his hands on a rag and took it. It was a bunch of clothes. Dresses, a few trousers and skirts, some blouses. All of them decidedly more feminine than anything X6 wore. Or Glory, for that matter.

"Where has she acquired those?" he asked, wondering if she'd given him her battle trophies. Preston shrugged.

"Who can say? She said she doesn't wear them anymore and that you have better use for them. She also said if you mention this to anyone she's going to kick your ass."

"Do you think she will?" X6 asked while he smoothed over the soft fabric of the top shirt. It felt nice under his hand. He wondered how it would feel wearing it.

"I wouldn't risk it, pal. Hey, you joinin' us for cards tonight?"

It wasn't the first time Preston asked that. In fact he did so almost every day when he chatted with X6, always making it look like he was just in the area and dropped in for some friendly conversation. Up until now X6 declined, socialising not being one of his strong suits. But he also knew that Preston would continue asking until he gave in. Part of him wanted to draw it out for that reason. He'd come to enjoy the man's company to a point where he began looking forward to his daily coincidental visits. He wasn't programmed for prolonged human interaction and feared there was a lot of subtext he didn't pick up on. For instance the way Preston tended to develop a slight speech impairment as well as a temporary skin discoloration in the cheeks whenever he saw X6 shed his coat and shirt to ease his work in the blistering heat.

"I will think about it." he promised and that seemed to be enough for Preston whose smile equaled only the sun in brightness.

 

Glory dealt the cards for the second time that evening when X6 joined them shyly. To everyone else he would have appeared like the very picture of self-confidence and stoicism but Glory knew to read the subtle signs. The deliberately squared shoulders, the controlled breathing, both hints not obvious enough to be picked up by anyone not used to dealing with coursers. He wore one of her blouses, a white one with ruffles along the collar. The trousers were still the Institute issued black leather which made for a nice effect, all in all.

"You look cute." she said and earned an icy glare from X6. She could still tell he was flattered, though, and smiled to herself as she dealt him in.

Even with having discarded his sunglasses for the evening, X6 had a poker face worthy of the gods. He bluffed his way through three rounds until they learned he didn't even know the rules. Preston took it upon himself to teach X6 the finer details of Wasteland poker, switching seats with the Minuteman who'd sat next to X6 up until now, and shuffling as close to X6 as societal convention would allow as appropriate. They played together for a few rounds, sharing cards and whispered questions followed by equally quiet explanations. Together they raked in a decent amount of caps and even managed to best Glory in her best game. They made one hell of a team, which in turn made Glory decide two things.

One, that she was never ever playing cards against those two anymore. And two, that Preston was maybe a little bit in love with X6.

 


End file.
